"

"Never shalt thou Birting get
To win the Monarch's daughter,
Until to Ireland thou hast been
To 'venge thy father's slaughter."

"Give to me the Birting sword,
And with it bid me thrive,
Or I the hill above thee will
To thousand pieces rive."

"Stretch thou down thy hand and take
My Birting from my side,
But if thou break thy father's hill
Much woe will thee betide."

He cast to him the sword, its point
Appeared above the mould:
"Save good fate on thee shall wait
I ne'er shall be consol'd."

He reached to him the sword, and placed
Its hilt within his grasp:
"Beneath its blows may all thy foes
Before thee sink and grasp."

Then took the sword Orm Ungerswayne,
And on his shoulder plac'd;
And to the Monarch's hall he sped,
As fast as he could haste.

It was the lofty Jutt of Bern
With wrath was nearly wild:
"It ill becomes a man like me
To battle with a child."

"Although I be but little, Jutt,
A fearless heart I keep,
And oftentimes a little hand
O'erturns a mighty heap."

For two long days they fought, and when
The third to evening tended,
"Methinks," exclaim'd the Berner Jutt,
"This fight will ne'er be ended."

It was bold Orm Ungerswayne
His good sword brandish'd he,
And of the lofty Berner Jutt
Asunder cut the knee.

Loud bellowed then the Berner Jutt,
And loud he fell to ban:
"It ne'er was warrior custom yet
So low to strike one's man."

"I was small, and thou wast tall,
Thy prowess I admire;
I only struck thy knee because
I could not reach thee higher."

Then took the bold Orm Ungerswayne
His faulchion on his back,
And to the ocean strand he goes
As fast as he could make.

It was bold Orm Ungerswayne
He paced the yellow sand,
And lo! Sir Tord of Valland came
Swift sailing to the land.

Foremost upon the gilded prow
The Tord of Valland stands:
"O who is yonder little man
That walks upon the sands?"

"O I am Orm, the youthful swain,
A kempion bold and fine;
'Twas I that slew the Berner Jutt,
That uncle dear of thine."

"If thou hast slain the Berner Jutt,
That uncle dear of mine,
'Twas I the King of Ireland slew,
Beloved father thine."

It was Tord of Valland then
With faulchion struck the earth:
"Never will I make amends
By gold or money's worth."

It was bold Orm Ungerswayne,
He grasped his faulchion's hilt:
"In vengeance for my father then
Sha